Monday 13 August 2012 12.34 EDT
First published on Monday 13 August 2012 12.34 EDT

Francis Ford Coppola (director)

I shot Rumble Fish back-to-back with The Outsiders, in the same location. Both were set in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and based on novels by SE Hinton – who has a small part in Rumble Fish as a hooker who approaches Rusty James, the hero, while he's out walking with his brother. Hinton's book appealed to me because of the focus on brotherly relationships. August, my older brother, was a major influence on me, and I was intrigued by the adoration Rusty (Matt Dillon) has for his own older brother, the Motorcycle Boy (Mickey Rourke).

There were some great performances, especially from Matt, Mickey and Dennis Hopper. I prepped Mickey by giving him a copy of Albert Camus's The Outsider. He had a reputation for volatility, but he's actually very sweet, so odd and interesting, ideal as the mysterious Motorcycle Boy.

The film has a real feeling of heat. I can't remember what the actual weather was like, but we made a conscious effort to make it appear hot, spraying the actors and wetting their underarms.

I decided to shoot in black and white because I wanted to make an art film for young people, and black and white gives a quality of poetic realism. I didn't just leave it to the script to tell the story – I also used camera angles, lighting and soundtrack to stimulate a young audience into loving the form as much as I did. I was disappointed when they didn't rush to see it. But it's pleasing its appeal has endured. It was the film I really wanted to make.

I like its strong visual motifs, such as the sequences with the sped-up cloud movement. I've always been fascinated by the unreliability of time, shown by the sweeping shadows as the sun and moon make their way across our sky.

Cinematographer Stephen Burum is a master craftsman. His camera work created this unreal, dreamy mood some people thought reflective of German expressionism. Others spotted the influence of Orson Welles. Of course, you're influenced by so many films, even if you're not thinking of them when you shoot. They just sort of sneak in.

I soon discovered what a fine way to make music it was – composing for a 90-minute story, not a three-minute song. A lot of it was about sounds rather than music – the clack-clack of billiard balls, the blaring of horns, the tick-tock of clocks – but all with the rhythmic quality Francis wanted. That recurring theme of clocks ticking was almost the only time, in all the films I've worked on, that a collaboration happened as planned. Most directors talk high-concept, but it's out of the window by the first test screening.

Pretty much all the music came from guitars, bass and drums laid down by me in my studio. That was the one culture clash between my rock background and the world of film. They kept asking: "When's the scoring date?" Normally, that's when the director and producers hear what you've written recorded by a full orchestra. It's a very tense occasion, and expensive if you get it wrong.

I knew none of this. I'd been doing the music as I went along, like a painter pulling colours off a palette. So my "scoring date" consisted of me in my studio playing what I'd recorded to these flinty-eyed professionals. They were dumbfounded – but overjoyed.